


Have You Found Every Collapse

by onlyfrequency



Series: Inquisitor [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorks, F/M, Inquisitor in disguise, Pre-Relationship, fluffy angst is a thing right, oh the pining, there's a reason no one calls him Smooth Moves Rutherford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 17:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15152537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyfrequency/pseuds/onlyfrequency
Summary: Boy likes girl. Boy runs into girl pretending to be someone else. Boy keeps girl's secret.Boy realises he really,reallylikes girl.Or Cullen runs into the Inquisitor dressed as a scout so people will actually let her do things to help out in early days Skyhold, and struggles to come to terms with the fact that she is Maker-sent perfection and he is screwed.Technically a prequel to Stabiliser and referenced in that work, this can be read separately as a stand alone.





	Have You Found Every Collapse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BarbMacK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarbMacK/gifts).



> Title taken from Anchor & Braille's Collapse, because this is only love, this is only love. ;3
> 
> Dedicated to everyone who commented on and kudos'd Stabiliser, you are all the best. And especially to BarbMacK, who prodded me to expand a handful of notes and a few paragraphs into this shameless piece of pining fluff angst. Enjoy!

* * *

Cullen lent over the crates and spare boards that functioned as a desk, signing off on requisition orders for the masons. Hopefully, they'd be able to move on from the main hall and get to the tower off the main bailey. Once the walls were secured a little better, that tower would make a wonderful office.

Void though, he'd take a stall in the stable at this point, nose wrinkling in irritation as a fat blob of snow settled on the paper in front of him, clearly intent on melting and smudging the ink. He shook it free carefully before covering as much of his so-called desk with an oiled tarp as best he could to keep the moisture out, grabbing a few sheaves ready for delivery. The one time he needed a scout...

He had no idea what training Leliana insisted they take outside of combat skills, but there were always half a dozen on hand, right up until he actually _needed_ one. Then they all seemed to disappear, leaving him to trudge wearily up the steps himself, heading for Josephine's office. Because of course her office would be a priority. Cullen grumbled under his breath, annoyed anew at the idea that they needed a place to entertain visiting dignitaries - read; blasted _nobles_ \- more than he needed a dry place to store his papers. But, he relented to himself, it had barely been more than a week and honestly, the masons were doing amazing work on making Skyhold habitable. The room beyond Josephine's new office was making a perfect war council meeting room. And that _anyone_ was sleeping indoors was a massive improvement from the first few days huddled in tents and rooms half open to the elements.

Thinking of which lead him to dwell on the newly elected Inquisitor. He hadn't actually seen her recently and even then just brief glances here and there. Aside from one conversation after they had crowned her, one stupid conversation where he had blurted out something incredibly idiotic - _I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again_ , who did he think he was making that sort of promise - Cullen hadn't had a chance to talk to her.

Not that he _needed_ to talk to her. She was still technically on bed rest after Haven, after her trek through the snow, the grueling push to make it to Skyhold. The Inquisition's figurehead she may be, but the three advisers had agreed to handle things until it was clear she was recovered from that pesky near-death experience. Even then, burdening her with the day to day running of the Inquisition was pointless. She didn't need to know watch schedules or training rotations, grain stockpiles or bales of hay, how many traders were asking for permission to open a stall.

As a result, Cullen found himself sort of somewhat missing her, absurd as that was. Lady Trevelyan had so far managed to prove herself incredibly pragmatic, often times balancing the three of them. Her presence had been sorely missed when they had been arguing in the middle of the Frostbacks, unable to agree on the simplest of things. So it was no surprise, really, that he couldn't wait for her to get back to work.

It certainly wasn't _selfish_. It wasn't like there was anything between them. They were comrades, acquaintances at best. Whatever errant thoughts ran through his head, friends would be all they could be. Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor, Lady Trevelyan. She was all those things that screamed _do not touch_ , least of all with his scarred and stained hands. No matter how sweet her smile, how blue her eyes.

But Maker fuck, her eyes were blue, a cloudless sky at times, tinged stormy grey at others and even cloaked in red, Cullen would always cherish blue things.

And her smile _was_ sweet, a hard won victory over the war table in the Chantry, gracefully offered over a tankard in the tavern, blithe in the face of adversity, small and fragile as she lead them through the snow.

And she let everyone call her what they wanted. There was always a small furrow to her brow when she heard _Your Worship_ , or _Herald_ , and she had said adjusting to _Inquisitor_ would take time. But she always responded to her birth-given title of _Lady_ , her name, _Evelyn_ \- yes, he knew it, but could not bring himself to use it - Void, she even responded to the thousand and one nicknames that Red Jenny elf threw her way or the ones Varric tested out on her. Josephine had taken to calling her _Evie_ when it was just the inner circle around, a nickname from her childhood that she embraced and that was catching on among her friends. Something else he could not bring himself to use.

But she never complained or made fun of him when he called her _My Lady_ , when he stuck to her titles. She simply nodded and smiled - not as sweet but _sometimes_ his distracted mind thought _maybe_ \- and got on with business and returned the favour by sticking to _Commander_.

It was one small thing that let him cling to sanity. Because it was insane to think otherwise, to harbour any notion that she, the Inquisitor, the Herald, _Lady Void-damned Trevelyan_ might view him as _more_ , as anything other than Commander Cullen Rutherford, former Templar, former _farm boy_. Even when she smiled sweetly. Even when she flirted.

Maker, Haven was a lifetime away. It had been easier then, in a way, to brush her off. There was still an air of suspicion that clung to her, that clung to the origins of the anchor. He had used that as an excuse and told himself she was just being nice, looking for ways to set him at ease with her. Trying to help him be more comfortable with the supposedly Maker blessed noble-born former prisoner they had essentially conscripted. That, certainly, was why she flirted with him.

He had been flirted with before. He had known what she was doing.

Worse, he had liked it.

He had liked the wicked glint in her eyes when she asked about his vows. He had liked the way she had teased him - _That wasn't so hard, was it? I'm only the Maker's new chosen one, nothing to fear here_ \- after they had spent hours, literal _hours_ in each others company, uninterrupted, as she broke down his reasoning for why they should go to the Templars for help with the Breach - discussing, not arguing. He had liked the way she casually ignored Iron Bull's obvious innuendo with a roll of her eyes, the way she had patted Sera's shoulder in consolation because _sorry, that's not where my interests lie_ , the way she had noticed him watching the exchange between the three of them and maybe, _maybe_ in the warmth of the tavern, that blush and sweet smile had been for him.

Ludicrous.

He had a war to win, there was no time to act like he was fresh out of Templar training again, melting whenever a pretty mage batted her eyelashes his way.

While not a mage, the Inquisitor _was_ pretty. That was an inescapable fact he was faced with every time he saw her. Worse again, she was _his_ kind of pretty; dark chestnut hair and bright eyes, a hidden strength in her hands from years of archery, her movements effortlessly graceful from years in high society. A warm, sweet smile and as avid a listener as she was a reader when time permitted.

And she had no hesitations on calling him out when she did not like what he was saying. They had clashed several times over the war table and her anger had flared. If he had any doubt she was capable of helping lead the Inquisition, it had faded quickly the first time she had turned on him. And, Andraste preserve him, it had not helped at all. Knowing that she had no qualms sticking up for herself when it mattered had only added to the reasons why thinking of her in any capacity beyond _comrade_ was a Bad. Idea.

Not that his mind listened to him.

He finally found a scout, a few steps from the doors that led to Josephine's office. _Just my bloody luck_. Shoving the papers into the mans hands, he growled out his instructions and made to storm back to his table.

Oh, but his mind never listened to him.

"Have you seen the Inquisitor?" The question escaped him before he could think better of it, and the scout shook his head with trepidation.

"No ser, not personally since the day before."

Cullen grunted in response, but now his feet weren't listening to him either. "What was she doing yesterday?" Curse the barely contained interest in his voice.

"Oh, er, I'm not sure Commander." The scout shrugged, confusion on his face as he rolled the papers in his hands nervously. Honestly, _why_ were so many of the scouts so scared around him? "Something about the infirmary tents, I think?" the man squeaked out eventually, wilting under the amber gaze that was pointedly trying _not_ to be terrifying.

The makeshift infirmary was right across from his table, and he hadn't noticed her at all yesterday. That stung a little for reasons he couldn't explain, and he dismissed the scout with a wave of his hand. It didn't matter, anyway. He had no reason to talk to Lady Trevelyan. No pressing business for her to attend to. He didn't even need to make sure she was recovering well - Leliana had given them all an update that morning. A few more days of rest, and then they would be planning her next move.

So why, _why_ did he want to find her now? All he had to do was wait a few more days and she would be joining them at the war table.

And _why_ was Varric giving him such a weird look?

To avoid the dwarf, Cullen decided to take the long route back through what was hopefully going to become a garden - the path made longer by all the building supplies scattered about. He picked his way slowly through the stacks of wooden planks and oddly shaped stones, grumbling to himself any time he had to step aside to let someone else pass.

He grumbled out loud when one of them bumped into him coming off the stairs leading back up to the main courtyard. He barely registered the fact that it was a woman and would have just brushed it off for the accident it was if she hadn't apologised.

"Sorry, Commander, I didn't see you there."

Something familiar teased him as he glanced over his shoulder at the offending scout. Clad in Inquisition green and brown and her hair hidden under the hood, the woman looked practically the same as any other scout he couldn't remember the blasted name of. (Seriously, _one_ of them had to be Steve, right?)

"There's nothing to forgive," he grunted, about to turn back. But she _smiled_ at his words, and it was sweet, too sweet. None of the scouts smiled like that. Only one person smiled at him like that.

As quickly as it had sprung to her face it dropped, replaced with the slightest hint of panic, the realisation of his recognition. And then she was gone, disappearing into the hazard-riddled maze of overgrowth and construction equipment.

He should just let it go. Who cared if the Inquisitor was running around Skyhold dressed like a scout, doing Maker knows what for Maker knows what purpose? Certainly not Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition forces. He had better things to do than follow her.

But maybe it wouldn't hurt to find out why?

Sure, that was the rationalisation he used when it became clear his feet really didn't care that his table and papers lay in the opposite direction. It was a security issue, obviously, he told himself, and that was why he was grabbing her arm and pulling her aside as best he could as she entered the confines of the debris strewn corridor.

Sense came back to him slowly as she tilted her head and looked up at him, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. His hand left her arm to find his neck instead and he glanced away before trying, "What are you doing, Inquisi-"

"Hush!" She slapped his arm lightly before putting her hands on her hips, a light glower on her face. "I'm just... Trying to help. No one will let me."

"Because you're supposed to be on bed rest," he pointed out, crossing his own arms in the face of her irritation. Maker, it was odd arguing with her when she looked like one of his subordinates. But also... No, no. No thoughts on the matter allowed. Especially not _those_ thoughts.

"It's not that," she huffed back, then quieted as a stonemason walked past. She continued when he had gotten some distance away. "It's the Inquisitor thing, the _Lady_ thing. They treat me like I have never worked a day in my life, like I couldn't _possibly_ know how to do more than sit around looking pretty and making small talk."

Cullen quirked an eyebrow at that. Not once in the scant few weeks he had known her had she complained about her noble birth. It had always been a simple fact that she came from a family of good standing in the Free Marches, not something she dwelt on. Maker, she hadn't even let Josephine contact them for support until the Ambassador promised not to use her new appellation of Herald of Andraste in the letter.

But, if he thought about it, it was unavoidable that Lady Trevelyan's upbringing had been less than practical for their current situation. What good did she think she could do? It wasn't like she had the build for hefting planks and buckets of stone for the masons. She didn't possess the technical skills to help the healers - and she was supposed to be a patient herself still. And the menial tasks - paperwork, drawing water, tending to the mounts - were just that. Menial, and below her station. As a Lady, and as the Inquisitor.

Though she clearly didn't seem to think that.

"If you wanted to help, why not talk to Lady Montilyet? Surely she has something you could do, Inquisitor," he shot back, pointedly ignoring the way her scowl deepened at the use of her title.

"All Josie will let me do is talk to people. But there are actual _things_ to do around here, Commander. If you haven't noticed, we are living in a ruin and half our injured are still sleeping in tents!" With a huff, she started moving down the corridor.

He winced visibly at her barely hidden scorn, but followed after. He really shouldn't be surprised. This was a woman who would clearly do anything she could and then some to help others - he had a report somewhere of her tracking down a Druffalo for a farmer and bringing it home as proof of that fact. But- "Inquis-" he started, and she turned to slap him on the arm once more. Sighing, he tried again. "What I don't understand is why you are dressed up as a scout."

The Inquisitor smiled at that, soft and sweet and disarming all over again. _Andraste preserve me_ , did she have any idea the things she could do with that smile? "Bull suggested it. I know I won't be able to get away with it forever, but right now, with all the movement and confusion, it's almost embarrassingly easy to pretend to be just another person here. No one thinks twice about letting me run errands if they don't know I'm the Inquisitor."

"Why would you-" - _want to hide who you are?_ Cullen shook his head. He already knew. Lady Trevelyan hadn't asked for this, for the anchor. She accepted it has her fate with the same grace and dignity she did everything else, and she put on a brave face. A mask. Hidden under the hood as a scout, she could be herself.

He wondered exactly who she was then, if she wasn't completely Lady Trevelyan. Did she lead some secret other life, utilising her bow in the guise of a highwayman? Had she been a member of a bandit group before the Conclave? Had she trained as a Bard or an Assassin? He knew her family was devout, that she had been intending on joining the Chantry as a Sister after the Conclave. Would she have joined the Templars instead? Or maybe she had felt trapped by the circumstances of her birth and, the idea sparking a far too comfortable feeling in his chest, wanted something simpler. She was good with the horses, it wasn't hard to picture her at home on a farm.

Only, he kicked himself mentally, the farm he pictured was the same one he had grown up on.

"You're right," he mumbled, trying to distract himself. "You won't be able to do this again."

She stumbled but quickly recovered, hearing a threat in his words he hadn't intended. Turning on him she jabbed a finger in his chest, causing him to still. Cullen found himself unable to read her face, partially hidden in shadows by the hood. "Don't take this from me."

He blinked, surprised by the raw emotion in her words. "This is important to you." It wasn't a question, and she simply nodded once, matching his gaze. Void take him, there was no way he was going to disappoint her. And if any man or woman dared, he would see to it they were corrected quickly. "I won't tell anyone."

Lady Trevelyan had a smile that could melt the whole damn mountain it was so bright. "Thank you, Cullen," she beamed up at him, hands clasped behind her back. A passing messenger shot them a curious look as she spun on her heels to resume walking.

He could have turned back, gone back to work, left her to whatever fun she had.

It's not the first time she has called him by name. She had done it several times in those first few weeks but dropped the habit when it became clear he was uncomfortable with the level of familiarity. Lately, she hadn't used it at all but maybe, _maybe_ if it was just the two of them, if it made _her_ happy, he wouldn't mind as much.

Clearing the corridor and heading into the hall instead, he fell into step beside her. Varric was engaged, thankfully, in some sort of heated discussion with Dorian; whatever his earlier look had been about could be avoided once more. Cullen let his hands rest on the pommel of his sword as they walked, still keeping the slow pace they had been taking to get through the maze before. "What sort of errands have you been doing instead of resting?"

She caught the light teasing in his tone and shook her head, shooting him a sideways glance. Oh, her smile, just a little sly as it tugged at the one corner of her mouth. Was it so bad to think of her as just another person, just another scout? Not one of his, not a subordinate, not someone he was in charge of, but just someone as committed to this cause as he was. Someone he could talk to freely, enjoy the company of. Spend time with, together, away from the work, get to know and - Maker, he's a fool, his thoughts running away again.

"Mostly just delivering papers and supplies. I wanted to help in the kitchens but they kicked me out for taste testing too many honey cakes."

All the words for glory sounded empty in the wake of her soft, silken laugh. He has heard it before but not since Haven, and never, ever for him, never caused by him, never gifted to him. He already knew it was a dangerous sound, the kind that could lead a man to ruin, but now? _Maker_ , what he wouldn't give to march her into the kitchen right now, give her the run of the place and as many honey cakes as she wanted. Instead, he gripped tight his pommel and this new kernel of information about her, filing it away safe with all the other small observations.

"I'm glad they did," he chuckled, filling the space between them with his sound. It was far too easy to talk to her like this, made him reckless, stupid. Emboldened by her disguise and apparent comfort in his company, he teased, "I would hate for our supply of treats to suffer at your hands. And I have a partiality for honey cakes myself, I need at least one a day to survive."

"I'll fight you for them," she smiled, mimicking shooting her bow at the doors ahead of them. Her eyes were bright when she glanced back at him, and he could see a loose strand of brunette hair peeking out of her hood. "Is that your secret, Commander? Honey cakes are what keep you sweet?"

Oh, _oh_ , she has to know what she's doing. How can she not? He snorted, about to dispute it or stupidly point out that she was the sweet one or _even stupider_ do something reckless and completely inappropriate when the scout from earlier called out to him.

"Commander! Report for you."

Cullen turned with a sigh, accepting the wad of papers from the man who threw a hasty salute. He wanted to resume his discussion with the Inquisitor, move on to safer topics than which of them was _sweet_ (her, definitely her, Maker she probably tasted like honey - no, no, _don't go there you idiot_ ) but the scout, those Void damned scouts, what was Leliana teaching them-

"Did you find the Inquisitor, ser?"

He shot a glance at the woman in question, reading the amusement on what he could see of her face. It would be easy, of course, to give her away. To say _yes, you blithering fool, she's right here_. He may not have said the words exactly, but he had promised to keep her secret. Cullen shook his head, the slightest of smiles tugging at his scar in response as the Inquisitor looked at him gratefully. "I have not seen her."

"When you do," the scout pressed, and Cullen had to bite back a groan, "can you let her know that the Spymaster wanted to see her? I'd deliver the message myself, only no one knows where she is."

He grumbled, rankled by the idea of having to do someone else's job on top of his own. "What makes you think I can find Lady Trevelyan faster than you, or anyone else for that matter?" Never mind the fact that she was literally standing right next to him.

The scout shrank away from him, stammering something that sounded unbelievably like "Sister Leliana said you were the most likely to know where she was, ser."

Now that made no sense. Cullen blinked, confusion on his face, vaguely aware that the Inquisitor was trying to hide her smile - her _laugh_ \- behind her hands. Ignoring the incredibly unbelievable situation he had found himself in, he grunted in irritation. "I have no idea where she'd get that ridiculous notion from. She's the blasted _Spymaster_." It's her ruddy job to know where people are and what they're up to, not him. He's just here to swing a sword and apparently _look pretty_ , ugh. And of all people, why would he know the first thing about what _Lady Trevelyan_ was up to? It was sheer chance that he had stumbled across her, and only her smile had given her away. If he hadn't looked, if he hadn't said those words, if she hadn't bumped into him in the first place...

The Inquisitor gave up trying to hide her laughter, only composing herself when his glare was turned on her. "I think it's sweet," she smiled, _like bloody honey_ , ignoring his growing frustration. Never mind that scouts shouldn't talk to the _Commander_ like that. "And what's the harm, if you do find her first?"

The _harm_ , he wanted to growl, was the insinuation that he _should_ know where she was. The _harm_ was the idea that he couldn't get her off his mind long enough to let her out of his sight. The _harm_ was that he had no right to think of her outside of a professional capacity. The _harm_ , Maker's breath did she not see the implications?

He grumbled weakly. "I'm not an errand boy, nor her keeper."

"I'm sorry, Commander!" The scout - why couldn't he remember any of the names? They all looked the same anyway but it was so frustrating not knowing exactly which ones he wanted to stick with latrine duty - bowed hastily, throwing a salute on top of the maneuver. The combination looked ridiculous and he snorted, surprised to hear the noise echo back to him from the Inquisitor.

Maker, she didn't make it easy to think of her as Lady Trevelyan and _only_ Lady Trevelyan. Not when she ran about dressed as one of the messengers, making unladylike noises, laughing and teasing him.

"You're excused," he shoo'd the scout away, rubbing the back of his neck in an attempt to ease some of the tension. It didn't help, not when he looked up and came face to face with Dorian.

"Commander! I was hoping to whisk you away for a chess game."

Oh. Maker. No. He slipped up one time, trying to extricate himself from a conversation with the mage shortly after they arrived in Skyhold. Offering up that small, personal insight had seemed a trifle compared to being trapped in a dusty corner with the man, but he had known it would haunt him as soon as Dorian had grinned with the acquisition of the knowledge that he knew his way around the board.

"I'm busy. Reports and things," he tried to wave the mage off which was another mistake. Evelyn still hung at his side, amusement in her eyes when she caught his gaze. Well, at least his grumpy nature was bringing her joy, that's _something_ , he supposed.

"Oh come now," Dorian pressed, slipping his arm into Cullen's as if they were old friends and not recent acquaintances. "My only other competition is absent today. Surely you won't let my skills be squandered in her absence?"

"Your other competition?" He didn't know why he asked. It was stupid, to ask. He already knew the answer, would have known even if the Inquisitor hadn't pursed her lips and tilted her head at the ground even as she looked up at him from behind her dark eyelashes. Imploring him once again to keep her secret. He extracted his arm as gracefully as he could, his scowl surely etching a permanent line in his forehead at this point.

"Why, darling Evie, of course!" _Of course_. "I don't know were she got to, the little minx. Some secret rendezvous with a lover perhaps? I could forgive her for her prolonged absences if she's gone and gotten herself someone to keep her warm, I suppose. No great travesty either way though, if it means I get to while away the hours with you."

Cullen had snorted at the idea of the Inquisitor having a rendezvous with _anyone_. There was no one here worthy of her attention, let alone being her _lover_. Dorian noticed the small noise, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Then, suddenly, he seemed to notice that the Commander wasn't alone. Tactful though the Tevinter mage could be, he seemed to opt for thinly veiled insinuations this time. "Oh, but forgive me! If you were on the way to your own rendezvous, don't let me stop you." He swept his arms out in a mock bow to Cullen and the scout at his side, offering a wink as he straightened and left.

How a mans face can both flush and drain of colour, Cullen will never know. But his did just that, the way Dorian wielded the word _rendezvous_ rendering him both spluttering and speechless.

In short, a fool.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if Dorian had really failed to recognize one of his few friends in the keep. Or perhaps the Inquisitor had been lying, and her dressing as a scout was all part of some massive joke at his expense.

But.

Running into her had been an accident. He truly had not known it was her, if not for that smile.

The same one beaming up at him now.

Maker.

He says the first thing that comes to mind to distract himself. "I- I have work to do."

 _Good one, moron_.

 "As do I, Commander." She saluted - _the Inquisitor_ , saluting him, _what in Thedas_ \- and it's a much more graceful action than the actual scouts, causing him to laugh at the absurdity. She raised an eyebrow at him as if questioning the sharp bark, but her mouth was already tugging back up into another smile.

Maker's breath, but those smiles are going to be the death of him.

They fell back in step together as they passed through the main doors, thankfully unchallenged by Varric, and he let her lead down the stairs. The silence between them was oddly comforting as he trudged back to his makeshift desk, and he caught himself stealing glances at her, studying her face. They had been right about her chances of doing this again; now that he knew, it was impossible not to tell it was the Inquisitor hidden underneath the muted leathers, smile or no. There was just something about the curve of her face, the blue of her eyes, the slope of her nose, the chestnut strands willfully denying her attempts to keep them tucked out of sight. Her only saving grace right now was her relative anonymity and the thick glove covering her left hand.

As soon as people started knowing her by sight, the escape would be over. And since Josephine was insisting on an official portrait...

Cullen cleared his throat, nervous. It was a foolish, stupid idea, and selfish to boot. "Were you, that is, did you-" The Inquisitor's gaze flicked to him and she slowed, curiousity on her face as she waited for him to form an actual sentence. "Leliana, will you go see her?"

She shrugged carelessly, clasping her hands in front of her as she rocked back on her heels, watching him resume his spot behind the wooden planks, checking to make sure his papers were safe. "At some point. Why?"

Foolish. Stupid.

Selfish.

But.

"I was just thinking- if it's alright with you, Inq- er, _scout_ ," she chuckled at his hasty correction, smile just a shade away from bashful as he grinned back, "there are some things I needed help with today, if you were amenable."

He's pretty sure the pink on her cheeks is from the cold, and the gleam in her eyes - well, he's no good at reading people, it probably wasn't anything like appreciation or anything. Surely. But then she nodded, adding, "It would be my honour, Commander."

He had been so sure she would blow him off that he was halfway through excusing her when his brain caught up to his mouth and his heart skipped a beat. "-You, you will?" It's insane to think that the Inquisitor would run errands for him, and truthfully there really wasn't all that much that needed to be done but it would let him keep a totally impartial and professional eye on her for a while.

And he could keep talking to her like they were friends.

She nodded again, and he cursed silently to himself as she teased him, "maybe if I say I'm under your orders, the kitchen will let me pilfer a few honey cakes while I'm at it. After all, you need them to function."

There was no way this wasn't going to make it harder to remind himself she was beyond his reach.

* * *

The Iron Bull eyed the Inquisitor over the rim of his tankard, taking a slow sip of the maraas-lok as if he were attempting to formulate a thought. The tavern was busy, everyone determined to enjoy themselves after another hard day of work and the Qunari sat in his claimed corner of the room, observing. Eventually he sat forward, his eye on hers, words laced with amusement. "So, you like taking orders, Boss?"

"Only when they're from the Commander," Evelyn shot back unperturbed.


End file.
